Summoned
by Irate Italian
Summary: Witchcraft is sweeping across the Province of Massachusetts, neighbours turn on one another and suspicion is high. Alfred, alone in his house away from the mass hysteria has so far managed to avoid the village's eye but how long will his peace last when a young man drawn across the ocean turns up in his back yard?
1. Chapter 1

"Witchcraft? Are you certain?"

This kind of talk started up a week ago after whispers that the devil was walking in the Province of Massachusetts and had already started his work in Salem, reached their tiny outcropping of houses. Salem was a number of miles down the road but word travels quickly on horseback and is aided in its spread by men and women alike as gossip given the mask of news.

At this point Alfred did his best to ignore it all unless he heard mention of any names. His family lived on the outskirts of their admittedly tiny village, a few meters into the woods that lead to the wild lands beyond where savages and beasts roamed free. This all seemed rather conspicuous (and indeed Alfred's family used to get many fearful looks from the young children and a few of the more judgemental adults about town who believed them to conspire with spirits in the dark secrecy of the woods) until you learn that the family occupation is tree felling. Or rather was; Alfred was now the only one left living there after the early but not surprising passing of his parents years before. A dreadful illness had swept the land and Alfred's parents were neither the first nor the last to pass on. Still it left Alfred alone and on the fringes of the small community, the only benefit being that a wish to support a young man (and perhaps nose in his business) had led to a decrease in suspicious looks whenever he came to town. Now the children even approached him when they saw him coming with his wares for trade.

Witchcraft indeed. Alfred may possess a healthy fear of ghosts and spirits and of course the devil himself but never in his life had he given a moment's consideration to the possibility of actual witches who signed away their name in the devils book. It just couldn't be true. So now, with talk of witchcraft close to home Alfred listened for names of the people hung for this unthinkable crime; Women, men, children, and he sent up a private prayer that they find peace after death.

Now, on his way home after a more successful day's trade than he had had in weeks, Alfred tried to bite back a retort to the claims that the devil was making his way up the road. That he was drawing ever closer. If the devil was on his way there would be no help in idle gossip, he thinks as he waves and grins at the children who run beside him as far as their mothers permit down the track leading home.

Further up the road, in the opposite direction from the epicentre of the panic, a young man made his way carefully along the edge of the treeline. Of course he had heard the news so perhaps this was incredibly foolish of him given his specific skill set but there was no denying the pull he had felt dragging him down this way. The same pull that had dragged him across the ocean and forced him from his ship. Something was pulling him towards Salem and, if he wasn't careful, his death.

**Hello! :) So this is a really short introduction for something that's been on my mind for over a year (literally), please let me know if anyone finds this remotely interesting :S it's a human AU and witchcraft is involved ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you hear? There was another one found this week!"

Arthur frowned as he walked down the board walk. The port was bustling, which in itself wasn't out of the ordinary, but what little snatches of conversation he could pick up were unsettling.

"They were found guilty, you mark my words they'll hang by the end of the month."

Self-consciously, Arthur pulled his coat tighter around himself. The unease crept under his skin as a couple of men watched him pass. Of course they were probably more interested in the foreigner dressed in European fashion fresh off the boat because of where he came from rather than because they linked him to the crimes they discussed. They couldn't possible know the truth just from looking at him.

"That's three witches found already and the accusations keep coming!"

He knew the welcome he would get wouldn't be warm exactly, despite being under the Great British Empire's rule the colonials were still suspicious of all foreigners no matter where they travelled from.

"Those girls from Salem village will out them never fear. They carry the judgement of the lord."

No one could possibly tell just by looking at him.

_"Witch!"_

The cry came from somewhere out of sight. Arthur whirled around with his heart pounding, eyes darting from person to person as he scanned the crowd for a glimpse of the accuser, much like everyone around him was doing. He lurched forward as the group of people surged towards a small knot of people, carried along like a child in a strong tide. Arthur shuddered at the imagery his mind created, he wasn't sure in which circumstance he would be in more danger. On the one hand he couldn't swim but on the other a hysterical group of people determined to out every source of witchcraft in the land, be it real or imagined, was just as unappealing as the icy grey waters of the Atlantic.

As he was swept closer to the disturbance Arthur felt his heart settle at least a little. No one was looking at him anymore, all the attention had been thoroughly commanded by a stout woman angrily pointing a finger at a slighter figure.

The woman regarded her audience haughtily before continuing the very public declaration.

"This woman has signed her soul away, I know it to be true!" she glared back at the figure, another woman no more than ten years her junior, who tried to summon as much strength to her posture as possible under the unforgiving scrutiny of the potential mob that had converged around her. A quiet stream of suspicious voices rose and fell around the two women.

"I have not!" she protested desperately, "you have no proof!"

"Ha! I have all the proof I need, I saw it with my own eyes." She declared triumphantly.

Arthur frowned. _Signed her soul?_ Was this a colonial phrase he was unaware of? He knew first hand exactly what 'proof' was needed to condemn a person where witchcraft was concerned, it was shocking little. One voice was enough to draw scrutiny, with enough force that one voice was also enough to sentence in some cases.

"I never signed no book, devil's or otherwise." The poor girl shook her head vehemently trying to find even one sympathetic face amidst those gathered. Tears began to pool in her eyes as all she met with were cold and unfeeling expressions. Arthur found himself rooted to the spot out of fear, wishing to comfort the poor girl and terrified of bringing suspicion upon himself ever again.

Suddenly the crowd parted and three men strode forward. The girl's eyes widened and she tried to shrink away as they advanced on her.

"Mrs Ingrid Faversham," the shortest of the three announced as his companions settled themselves either side of her, each with a firm- and by the looks of it, slightly painful –grip on her upper arms, "You stand accused of witchcraft. You will be taken before God to admit your sins and bear judgment."

They began escorting her away from the circle of spectators, ignoring her sobs and pleas as her accuser watched smugly from the side-lines and Arthur's stomach swooped in pity. When she had disappeared into the throng of people the newcomer looked around at those assembled. He seemed sad as he looked from face to face before he too took his leave, his hand clutching a book to his chest. The indented lettering on the brown leather as well as the cross hanging on his person proclaimed him to be a man of the Christian church. Arthur cast his eyes to the ground as he passed.

Slowly the crowd around him began to dissipate and Arthur was once more free to move without being shepherded to a new spectacle. He shook off his misery at the stranger's misfortune and continued down the road he found himself on trying even harder to keep himself to himself and avoid any kind of unwanted attention.

He had no idea the hysteria had spread so far. He had left Europe in search of safe haven. A way to escape the fear that hounded him seemingly wherever he went but it seemed either the shadow of his past had followed him across the ocean or the whole world was being consumed by a terrible darkness.

The road out of the port also soon took him out of the main town until he was out of Boston altogether, the busy city left behind in favour of the more rural areas further down the road. People and houses came fewer and further between as Arthur felt his heart rate and panic calm down. He had never been exactly comfortable in crowded areas, his mother's constant paranoia apparently rubbing off on at least one of her children, but his dislike had grown in recent times to outright terror which usually translated to him being more defensive. The quiet and peace found outside the cities was definitely preferable, as was the relative freedom to be himself that came with it.

As Arthur realised it had been over half an hour since he had come across another person he finally stopped for a moment to take stock of his surroundings. He couldn't even make Boston out in the distance anymore and all around him seemed to be deep forest almost as soon as you stepped off the road. Further away he could make out a clearing and a small trail of smoke in the sky. A farm house perhaps, the only one in sight and even it was at least another hour's walk from where he stood. He sighed. Peace was one thing, isolation had never been a thing he enjoyed, although regrettably it _was _something he was far too familiar with. This country seemed to have no in-between, it went from the overpopulated masses in the cities to a suddenly empty landscape dotted with one or two rare inhabitants from what he could see. Perhaps that home signalled something more was on the way, a small community of farmers if he were lucky, maybe an inn or willingly landlord to put him up for the night which, he was also realising belatedly, was drawing in quickly.

He forced himself onwards towards that lonely house on aching feet, unwilling to be caught out in the dark in a strange land. Horror stories from his youth about the wild Indians that roamed this area suddenly flooded back into his mind and he drew his cloak tighter around himself. It would be incredibly annoying to have gotten this far and to be done in by some savages in the new world after everything Arthur had survived in the old one. Ironic almost.

**Hello! Sorry about the really long delay in posting this I've had some personal issues preventing me from writing as much as I would like but don't worry, I have every intention of finishing this! To the lovely anon person who left a review encouraging me to continue; never fear, a lack of interest has never deterred me :) if people read and leave a review it makes my day no doubt about it but I never expect any, I write because I have a story even if it doesn't get much attention :) Thank you for liking it though, I hope it continues to entertain you!**


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